Demonic Intervention
by bennybear
Summary: AU, taking place during GoF. How Harry fulfilled the prophecy without ever learning about it: He is given a weapon and gets creative with it. The Dark Lord doesn't know, and never will.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer:

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author's note:

This is a little AU story trying to exploit a plot hole in GoF. I know it's been done before, but here is my take on Binding Magical Contracts into which you can be entered without your consent.

Enjoy!

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Demonic Intervention

Chapter One

Harry lay awake.

Would he ever be able to sleep again? The moment he closed his eyes, he saw the eyes of Cedric, staring up unseeingly into a cloudy sky.

Why Cedric?

Why him?

It was so unfair, on them both.

Cedric could still be alive if Harry hadn't talked him into sharing victory.

Victory, Harry thought miserably. Mockery would be more fitting.

Voldemort was back, but nobody was listening.

Cedric was dead, and he had nobody to talk to.

He could always talk to Ron and Hermione, and they would offer him as much consolation and encouragement as was in their power, but they didn't understand. Not really. They couldn't because they both had a mother and a father to comfort and encourage them. They could imagine living without parents no better than he could imagine what growing up with parents might be like.

He had seen his mum and dad, or rather their shadows. He had heard their voices, or rather an echo of them. He had seen the echo of a smile on his father's face, heard the shadow of comfort from his mother's ghostly mouth.

He wanted to cry. He really wanted to cry, but he dreaded waking up the others.

Perhaps he should do it anyway. Crying wouldn't go down well at Number Four, Privet Drive.

Dumbledore was sending him back to the Dursleys. Again.

Admittedly, Dumbledore did listen to his report about Voldemort's re-birth, and he also did believe him. In fact, Dumbledore was about the only one who had believed him right away.

Thinking about it now, it almost seemed as if Dumbledore had believed him too readily. As if the old headmaster had been expecting something like this to happen.

Harry remembered the glint of triumph in Dumbledore's eye. It had been there for only a fraction of a second, but Harry had seen it.

He had a nagging feeling that something was off. Dumbledore and Moody were supposed to be friends, right? If somebody disguised themselves as Ron Weasley using Polyjuice Potion, would the impostor be able to fool him, Harry, for a _whole_ _year_? And Dumbledore was allegedly the most learned person in wizarding Brit-

There was a sudden movement at the foot end of the bed.

Whipping out his wand from under his pillow, Harry sat up. He pointed the wand into the general direction of the intruder and hissed, "Reveal yourself or I'll hex you!"

He couldn't see a thing in the darkness – and he didn't have his glasses on, anyway – but whoever or whatever had entered his bed and was weighing down the mattress far too much to be just Crookshanks!

"Um, easy there," a female voice said. "I'm just the Tooth Fairy."

"I'm sorry," Harry snapped, not sounding sorry at all, while he groped for his glasses with his left hand, "but I'm really not in the mood for any kind of nonsense right now."

"All right, all right," the voice conceded, "not _the_ Tooth Fairy, but _a_ tooth fairy. Would you mind me conjuring up some light?"

There was a tinkle, melodious and very faint. A sparkling fountain sprung up the very instant Harry put his glasses on. Tiny stars sailed away from it, filling the space between the hangings of his four-poster bed with a soft glow that intensified until he could see the trespasser properly. She wore a tight, ivory-coloured dress with lots of frills. Although her hair was pulled back into a bun, she looked less stern than McGonagall did. Her smiling face seemed strangely ageless.

"That should do," she said pleasantly. "The magic also keeps in the sound so we won't disturb your room mates."

Harry shook off the surprise.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"I want nothing. I'm a tooth fairy and I'm here for you."

"Did the twins put you up to this? To cheer me up?" he asked wearily. "Tell them you tried, but it didn't work."

"Nobody put me up to anything," she said with a hint of a frown. "I'm just doing my job."

"Oh, come of it. The Tooth Fairy isn't real! Children are just told comforting tales about her when they lose their milk teeth."

Children who had parents were probably told nice tales like that he thought bitterly.

"Well, we are real, but we are far too few these days so we hardly get around to visit even half of the children. Sadly, this has led to suspicions that we don't exist."

"Just stop it, will you?" Harry said impatiently. "You don't look anything like a fairy!"

"Yes, that is because in truth I'm a demoness. A benevolent one; don't be alarmed. Since a certain bunch of spiteful entities gave our species such a bad name we changed our designation. We don't want to frighten children, after all. Besides, only the few children who know about magic ever notice. All the others think fairies look exactly like I do. Well," she said and glanced at a gleaming clipboard that had come out of nowhere, "You are Harry James Potter, yes?"

Harry nodded mutely.

"Well, you are one of those who were overlooked when they were little. I'm here to make up for that lapse," she smiled genially. "I'll grant you a wish."

"Can you bring back Cedric?"

Harry blurted the words out without taking a single second to think.

"That depends on who Cedric is," she said, still smiling, "and where he disappeared to."

"He was a Hufflepuff seventh year, and he was murdered."

The smile was gone.

"I'm afraid reversing death is beyond my pow-"

"In this case, never mind!"

Harry scolded himself for his stupidity. He shouldn't have allowed the spark of hope! It was always the same – he was shown something desirable, and then it was moved out of his reach before he could get hold of it.

"You are hurting," she said softly. "Was Cedric a good friend of yours?"

"No, maybe friend isn't the right word. It's complicated."

He took a deep breath, and then all his misery spilled forth. He told her about being entered, without his consent or even his knowledge, into a tournament for adult wizards, then forced to compete and, to add insult to injury, being shunned for that by almost the entire school, including even his best friend. He told her about dragons, Acromantulas, Blast-Ended Skrewts and Potter-stinks-badges, about defamatory newspaper articles, Ron and Hermione under the lake, Death Eaters masquerading as teachers and using Unforgivables during lessons, about Voldemort's return, treacherous rats, _Priori_ _Incantatem_ and a seventeen year old boy who was murdered because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"And nobody will listen about Voldemort being back, especially not this idiot of a minister! How can somebody so stupid have such an important position? It's no wonder things keep going wrong in the wizarding world," Harry said at the end of what probably had been two hours. He felt drained, but also slightly relieved. "I'll have to warn people! With Voldemort back, there soon will be bloodshed all over the country. Can you help me, at least, with this?"

"I feel deeply sorry for you," the demoness said earnestly. She reached for his left hand and patted it gently. "I'll give you a chance to put things right. However, I can only grant you one hour, and there is also a condition: You mustn't be seen. This place is rather crowded, so take great care. And remember, Harry, you must be back here in one hour exactly."

With that, she tapped his wrist with some force, and something appeared there that looked at first glance like a wristwatch. It had no hands, though, and the face was completely blank.

Harry suddenly felt dizzy. His vision blurred.

Then he had a sensation of falling.

Falling.

Falling...

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To be continued

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Thanks to Oriel Subtle for beta reading. :)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Harry felt mildly disoriented.

He wasn't sure whether or not he had finally fallen asleep – just to have a wacky dream about the Tooth Fairy. Well, no, about a tooth demoness.

What really bothered him was that he was sitting in his bed with his glasses on and his wand firmly gripped in his hand.

He let out a shuddering breath. It wouldn't be very surprising if all the horrible things in his life drove him round the bend one of these days. Perhaps a little stroll around the castle would do him good. He'd be confined to a three-by-three cell all too soon.

"Lumos!" he whispered.

He slipped out of his pyjamas to put his clothes on. It was then that he noticed that the strange wristwatch was still there.

So, it hadn't been a dream.

Or, alternately, he was still dreaming.

Well, if not, he had one hour to thwart Voldemort and save Cedric. More correctly, he had fifty-seven minutes. The face of the watch wasn't entirely white anymore. There was a sliver of blue, and just as he watched, that sliver increased a tiny bit as if an invisible hand had moved from two to three past the hour.

He dressed, grabbed the Marauders Map, and donned his Invisibility Cloak.

Tiptoeing to the door, the football poster next to Dean's bed caught his eye. It wasn't the one Dean's parents had given their son for Christmas, but the one that had been there last autumn.

Did he travel back in time?

If so, the caution of the demoness about not being seen made sense.

He tiptoed back to his trunk, opened it as quietly as possible, pulled his notes out, and checked them for the most recent entries. There was no date beyond the 30th of October.

He was back to the night before the champions were chosen!

Jumping up in excitement, he knocked the candlestick from his bedside table. He stood stock-still as it rolled noisily over the floorboards.

Seamus shifted in his sleep, muttered something, but didn't wake. The soft snoring coming from the beds of Neville and Ron didn't stop. Dean couldn't be heard at all.

Harry exhaled in relief and left the room.

The corridors were as empty and quiet as the Gryffindor common room. Striding down towards the Entrance Hall, he didn't even meet a ghost.

What was he to do? Write Cedric a letter? He wouldn't be seen and therefore probably wouldn't violate the rules of time travel.

But was Cedric going to believe a story that was, basically, the prediction of his death? Maybe the Hufflepuff boy would suspect a prank and throw the letter away. Or he would take it to his head of house for investigation. Sprout might take it to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore might discuss the matter with the supposed DADA teacher, thus unintentionally warning Voldemort about the plot being exposed.

No, Harry couldn't risk that.

He had reached the Entrance Hall where the Goblet of Fire sat on the stool that normally bore the Sorting Hat.

He glowered at the thin golden line that had been traced on the floor to form a circle of about twenty feet in diameter. In true, reckless Gryffindor fashion, Dumbledore had guarded the Goblet against underage students, but not against Death Eaters. Any adult witch or wizard could mess with it and cause harm!

Harry pictured the figure of Moody, a cloth wrapped around the wooden leg to muffle the _clunk_ , coming here in the small hours of the night to drop Harry's name into the Goblet.

That was it!

The demoness didn't pick an hour at random! Surely, she had given him a chance to prevent Moody, well, _Crouch_ , from confounding the Goblet.

Standing around in the open might be unwise, though. The Polyjuiced Death Eater could see through Invisibility Cloaks thanks to Moody's magical eye. Harry ducked into the nearest corridor and hid behind a suit of armour before he consulted the Marauders map. Crouch was still in the DADA teacher's quarters, and Alastor Moody was there, too. Harry stared at the two dots, waiting for the one labelled Barty Crouch to move.

The seconds ticked by and became minutes. Crouch didn't leave his place. If the man wanted to get here in time, he should hurry. Less than half of the allotted hour was left.

Harry alternately stared at the map and the watch. His heart sank a bit with every sliver of white turning to blue. The precious hour, his chance to put things right, was rapidly running out.

What if Crouch had already jinxed the Goblet and tossed the name in?

Then, Harry's past self would have to go through the same ordeal as before with only Hermione and Dobby being on his side from start to finish. Nothing at all would change, and Fudge would call him a liar and attention-seeking brat.

His anger rose again. Fudge was both a coward and an idiot. Oh, how he would like to see the pathetic excuse for a wizard duel Voldemort or tackle a dragon!

At that thought, an idea struck him. Crouch had said, in the waiting chamber on Halloween, the Goblet had been bamboozled into forgetting that only three schools competed in the tournament. He had _not_ said it had been tricked into the belief that there were only four schools...

It was worth a try. If he didn't at least attempt to do something, the same horror would unfold, like before.

"Dobby?" he whispered.

Harry flinched at the soft _crack_ with which the house-elf appeared. It echoed frighteningly loud in the empty hallway.

The elf looked around uncertainly.

"Harry Potter has called Dobby?" he ventured.

"Dobby, can you see me?" Harry asked.

"Dobby knows Harry Potter is here," the elf said, sounding even more bewildered, "b-but he doesn't see-"

"That's fine, Dobby," Harry cut him off. To forestall any unhelpful incidents, he added. "Do not punish yourself for not being able to see me. I don't _want_ to be seen right now. Understood?"

Dobby nodded his head vigorously, his ears flapping.

"Dobby, how old are you?"

"Oh, Dobby is many autumns old!"

"How many?"

"Dobby couldn't say, Harry Potter sir." The elf's ears drooped. "Dobby is very, very sorry. Is he being a bad elf for not knowing?"

"No, of course not! And I forbid you to punish yourself," Harry said quickly. He couldn't afford to lose any more time. "Dobby, there is an age line around the Goblet of Fire in the Entrance Hall so I can't reach it. Can you put something in for me?"

"Of course! Dobby can do that!"

"All right. I'll need a quill, ink and parchment," Harry said. "Can you please fetch those?"

Dobby vanished almost before Harry had closed his mouth. He was back with the requested items an instant later.

Harry Summoned quill, ink and a sheet of parchment – Dobby had brought a whole wad – under his Invisibility Cloak.

 _Cornelius_ _Fudge_ , he wrote, _Magical_ _School_ _for_ _Incompetent_ _Ministers_ _and_ _Pathetic_ _Nincompoops_. He rolled up the parchment and pushed it out from under the hem of the Cloak.

"There, Dobby. Put that in, please."

While the elf skipped happily toward the Entrance Hall, Harry eyed the blank parchments. Why not give Crouch a taste of his own medicine?

He summoned another sheet and wrote, _Bartemius_ _Crouch_ _Jnr_ ; _Magical_ _School_ _for_ _Death_ _Eaters_ _in_ _Disguise_.

There would be no escape for Crouch. If he didn't reveal himself in order to compete, he'd break a binding, magical contract, and if he did, he'd go back to Azkaban and still break the contract.

"How did it go?" asked Harry the returning elf.

"Oh, Harry Potter will be pleased! Dobby walked over the golden line twice, in and out, and he put the scroll into the magical goblet as Harry Potter wished."

"Well done, Dobby!" Harry cheered. "Here's another. Hurry; there'll be more."

"More!" the elf squealed in delight and dashed away.

Harry summoned the remaining sheets under his Cloak and started writing. There were several people in dire need of either finding themselves in a fiendishly bad fix or of being brought down a peg or two. He scribbled away furiously, and Dobby, bouncing with joy and excitement, took scroll after scroll to the Goblet.

 _First_ _British_ _Magical_ _School_ _for_ _Spiteful_ _Gits_ _Holding_ _Grudges_ _for_ _Decades_ _and_ _Taking_ _Out_ _these_ _Grudges_ _on_ _the_ _Children_ _of_ _Dead_ _People_ Harry finished another tournament application. The made-up school name almost didn't fit on the parchment. He pushed the scroll out to the waiting Dobby and glanced at the watch. White was turning to blue with frightening speed.

Who ought to be next? Well, what about the man who loved to sit back and watch placidly while he, Harry, slid into dangerous adventures and who – all grandfatherly benevolence and twinkling blue eyes – liked to give explanations afterwards that were still more cryptic than enlightening?

 _Albus_ _Percival_ _Wulfric_ _Brian_ _Dumbledore_ , Harry wrote, carefully recalling the inscription on the chocolate frog cards. _Supreme_ _Magical_ _School_ _for_ _Supreme_ _Mugwumps_ _and_ _People_ _With_ _Too_ _Many_ _Names_.

There was only one parchment left now, and time was running out.

Who had he missed? Who else deserved facing a fire-breathing dragon?

" _Rita_ _Sketer_ ," he scribbled hastily. " _Magical_ _School_ _for_ _Annoying_ _Reporters_."

He was about to hand the parchment to Dobby when he spotted the spelling error. He wrote an additional e above the name and drew a tiny pointer to indicate where it belonged. The e rather resembled an ink splotch and the pointer was a blurred scrawl, but there was no time anymore for corrections. Only four minutes worth of white were left on the watch.

He pushed out the parchment from under the Invisibility Cloak and ran.

"Thank you, Dobby!" he called, already at the foot of the stairs. "See you around."

He raced up the stairs, hoping against hope that the Fat Lady would be in her frame.

She was.

"Balderdash!" he shouted already from afar.

She looked puzzled because she couldn't see where the voice was coming from, but the portrait swung open. Harry jumped through the opening and ran, taking two steps at a time, up to his dorm.

He felt a pang of regret upon entering. He should have put Karkaroff's name on a parchment instead of roping in another fourth-year student into the Tournament. Then again, the prat had been a total arse about Harry being made the second Hogwarts champion.

He flung the Invisibility Cloak into his trunk and threw himself onto the bed.

He seemed to have missed, though. He had the odd sensation of floating in midair, and then of rising.

Rising.

Rising...

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To be continued

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Thanks to Oriel Subtle for beta reading. :)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Harry felt dizzy. He wasn't sure whether or not he had just woken from a dream. If there had been a dream of any description, he didn't recall it. Even more puzzling was the fact that he appeared to be fully clothed with his wand in his hand. And quite apart from all the above, he had the disconcerting feeling that he wasn't alone in his bed.

"Lumos!" he said softly.

Instantly, he was grateful for having his clothes on. There was a woman sitting at the foot end!

She wore an ivory-coloured, frilly dress that hugged her body nicely. Her hair was done up in a bun that looked rather fetching instead of giving her the same stern appearance that McGonagall's hair-do generated.

She smiled.

She had dimples.

There seemed no way to tell her age.

Harry had little doubt that she was a "gift" from the twins. They had tried all year to wind him up with the fact that he was, technically, an adult now.

"So," he grinned. "Have we met?"

"No, not to my knowledge, and that's why I'm here," she replied. "I am a tooth fairy."

"Sure." Harry's grin grew even wider.

"Please allow me to ensure our privacy," she said and waved her hand.

He was a little alarmed about this ensuring-our-privacy thing, and his grin faltered for a moment. He didn't really want for anything substantial to happen, especially because he had no idea who the twins had Polyjuiced for this stunt.

The parlour trick she delivered was nice enough, though. Accompanied by a faint melodious tinkle, a fountain sprung up and emitted tiny stars that floated around for a bit before they attached themselves to the hangings.

"That should do," she said cheerfully. "The magic keeps in the sound so we won't disturb the other boys' sleep."

Harry gulped. Disturb the others with what? Surely, she didn't mean to get seriously serious?

"You are Harry James Potter, yes?" she said, looking at a gleaming clipboard that had come out of nowhere.

"Well, yes," he said, now a tad less sure of himself. "What exactly do you want?"

"I want nothing. I'm a tooth fairy."

"Oh, come on! The Tooth Fairy isn't real. It's just a story that is told to little children when they lose their milk teeth. I'm fourteen, going on fifteen."

"I am _a_ tooth fairy, not _the_ Tooth Fairy. Unfortunately, there have been not enough of us lately. Far too many children don't get a visit in time. This has led to questioning our existence, and it is also the reason I am here now. You were overlooked when you were the appropriate age. I understand you had a very bad school year?"

"No," Harry said, taken by surprise. He wasn't sure at all whether he should buy her story or not. "Actually, I had a really good year for once."

Bordering on brilliant, he added to himself.

"Then my information is obviously faulty," she said, putting the clipboard away. "Would you mind telling me about your most recent year here at Hogwarts?"

"Sure, I can do that." In fact, he liked the idea. If he played this right, he might be able to keep her occupied until the Polyjuice wore off. "It started pretty much like any other year. Malfoy was already being an obnoxious prat before we even reached Hogwarts, Hagrid had a new breed of violent beast, Snape seemed to have attained new levels of vindictiveness over the summer and, to top it all off, we had a Defence teacher who used Unforgivables during lessons. As you can see, the year had a huge potential for turning out bad when the Triwizard Tournament began, and the champions were chosen..."

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To be continued

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Thanks to Oriel Subtle for beta reading. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Harry felt numb as he walked to the top table. He didn't seem to get any nearer to it.

He had not put his name in, and yet, it came out.

Just his luck.

Dumbledore, unsmiling, directed him to a chamber off the Great Hall.

Harry was aware of the angry buzz behind him as he walked on along the row of dumbfounded teachers towards the chamber. Of course, people were going to blame _him_.

Just as always.

He entered the chamber and stood there, not knowing what to say or what to do until Bagman showed up to proclaim Harry Potter the forth champion.

Krum's expression changed from sour to angry. Diggory looked confused. The French girl had the audacity to say that Harry shouldn't compete because he was a little boy. Bagman, on the other hand, seemed to be rather taken with idea of having an underage champion.

Then a group of adults – Dumbledore followed closely by Crouch, Karkaroff, Maxime, McGonagall, and Snape – rushed into the room, arguing about who was to blame, whose fault this whole mess was, and who should be held responsible.

Harry had a nasty feeling that the answer to all three questions was going to be _Harry_ _Potter_ , and indeed, events unfolded themselves in their usual way. Snape accused Harry of rule breaking, making it sound as if breaking rules was the only thing Harry had ever done in his life. McGonagall bristled and insisted that Dumbledore's word should be good enough for everyone, foreign guests included. Dumbledore's word, or rather his words, were both firm and polite, but didn't explain or clear up anything.

So, the arguing went on – mostly about what the rules actually said and whether or not the other schools should also be allowed a second champion. Nobody was overly concerned with Harry's protestations that he had _not_ put his name in and that he did _not_ wish to compete.

Moody joined the group at some point and presented a moderately rational theory as to why Harry's name had come out of the Goblet. Karkaroff sniped at him for it, and Dumbledore dismissed the explanation as merely academic because Harry had to compete regardless of how his name had found its way into the Goblet.

 _Binding_ magical contract – the phrase turned Harry's insides cold. He briefly wondered what the penalty might be if he refused and decided that perhaps he might be better off not knowing.

Just then, the door opened.

Professor Sprout stood there, accompanied by Draco Malfoy, who managed to look smug and anxious at the same time.

"Headmaster, can't you stop that Goblet before it spits out more names of minors?" Professor Sprout asked. "I don't understand how underage students could possibly have put their names in while an age line was in place, but Mr Malfoy's just came out."

Even Dumbledore looked stunned by this piece of news.

The quickest to recover was Maxime.

"A zird champion for 'Ogwarts? Zis is unacceptable!" she said, glaring at the Hogwarts teachers. "Outrageous and _absolutely_ _unacceptable_!"

Karkaroff, smiling a fake smile, asked, "Tell me, Dumbledore, did I perhaps overlook the passage saying _Tri_ wizard Tournament refers to the _three_ champions Hogwarts is allowed?"

While Dumbledore tried to soothe the two incensed guests with balmy words, Snape stepped away from the group and advanced on Malfoy, who seemed still undecided about whether he should gloat or protest.

"Mr Malfoy," Snape said silkily, "the age line was there _for_ _a_ _reason_. The tasks require N.E.W.T level skills and knowledge. There may also be a certain measure of danger."

Malfoy's pale complexion grew a shade paler.

"Who did you bribe to put your name in?" Snape demanded. He was nose to nose now with Malfoy, and his eyes were boring into those of the boy.

"N-nobody," Malfoy stuttered, his lip quivering.

"I see," Snape said softly.

He let Malfoy alone in favour of bearing down on Harry again, "Thought it was funny to enter not only your name but also the names of others, did you? You ought to be expelled for wilfully endangering the life and health of one of my students-"

But Harry had had enough.

"I most certainly did not!" he exploded. "I did not put my name in! There was an age line I couldn't cross. I'm fourteen, for goodness sake! If this tournament is so dangerous, than my life and health are at stake as well. Did you perhaps think of that?"

"No," Snape stated flatly.

"Well, that _figures_ ," Harry spat, still seething.

He fell silent, though, and listened to the angry shouting that suddenly came from the Great Hall. The door was still open, although Professor Sprout had left.

"Oh my," breathed McGonagall. "What's going on out there?"

"Professor Dumbly-dorr, Meester Bagman, what is ze meaning of zis?" asked the Beauxbatton champion. "Why do names of 'Ogwarts students keep coming out of ze Goblet?"

Neither man answered her because Professor Sprout was leading a first year girl into the chamber, a crying first year girl with a Hufflepuff crest on her robes.

Sprout seemed on the verge of tears, too.

"Albus, you _must_ stop this!" she pleaded.

"I am afraid I do not know how," Dumbledore said sadly.

The girl was shaking.

"I – did – not – put – my – name – in," she brought out between sobs. "I swear!"

Sprout pulled her to the side where they sat down on a freshly conjured-up straw bale.

"Mon dieu," Maxime breathed.

Karkaroff eyed the small, skinny girl – she was little more than four feet tall – with unveiled derision.

"Albus, I think Moody must be right," McGonagall turned to the headmaster. "Somebody did tamper with the Goblet."

"Oh, indeed?" Snape sneered. "How do you know this isn't just Potter's idea of a 'joke'? His father-"

"Honestly, Severus!" McGonagall snapped. "This is not the time for-"

A new eruption of noise in the Great Hall drowned out what it wasn't the time for.

Everybody in the chamber turned to the open door where Professor Flitwick appeared, looking mildly befuddled.

It was then that things became truly weird.

"The Goblet of Fire emitted the name of Peter Pettigrew," Flitwick announced.

"But that's ridiculous!" Bagman exclaimed. "He's dead."

Snape, glaring maliciously at Harry, asked, "Care to explain that one, Potter?"

"No, I don't," Harry said simply.

An uneasy silence followed. The mood in the chamber had shifted. Moody's marred face was darkened with worry. The champions, the original three, had moved away from the fireplace and were sulking in the far corner. They probably felt that they had been robbed of the place in the spotlight that should rightfully have been theirs for months to come. Karkaroff wore a pronounced frown, McGonagall was wringing her hands, and even Dumbledore's eyes had stopped twinkling.

Harry wondered whether he was the only one in the room besides the headmaster who knew that Pettigrew was, in fact, not dead.

At length, Maxime turned to Flitwick, "I would like an explanation. 'Oo is zis man? Is 'e another champion for 'Ogwarts? And why is Meester Bagman saying 'e is dead?"

"No, he is not another champion, Madame," Flitwick answered. "At least, I don't see how he could possibly take part in the Tournament. It's been nearly thirteen years that he was murdered."

"But zis is absurd!" Maxime said. "Tres absurde!"

The noise in the Great Hall rose again, and Flitwick left to check what was going on.

McGonagall, in the meantime, turned to Dumbledore.

"Goodness, Albus, this has to stop! We have already three underage students who'll have to compete," she said, shooting a furtive glance at the Hufflepuff girl. "Whoever put in all those names can't be up to anything good."

"I agree with Minerva," Moody growled while he made slowly his way to the door. "There is definitely something off here. I'll go and make sure that matters won't get _entirely_ out of hand."

"Moody, wait!" Bagman cried in alarm. "You can't just grab the Goblet when it is still alight. Isn't that so, Crouch? Crouch, say something!"

Crouch looked at Bagman blankly. Maybe he was ill; he gave the impression of having difficulty to follow the conversation.

Moody scowled at Crouch.

"Crouch, what happens when we just knock the damn thing over?" he barked.

"The choosing process must not be interfered with," Crouch said dispassionately. He was almost drowned out by a new commotion in the Great Hall.

"Alastor, wait," Dumbledore said. He had to raise his voice to be heard above the whooping that was coming from the Great Hall. "There is nothing you could do at this stage. I would rather you-"

He was interrupted by the returning Flitwick.

"Headmaster, the name of the Minister came out of the Goblet! Cornelius Fudge!"

The peculiar piece of news was met with cries of outrage and disbelief.

Once they had died down Dumbledore asked Crouch, "How much time does the minister have to come here, Barty?"

Again, Crouch seemed unable to comprehend the question.

Bagman answered in his stead, "One hour. Any chosen champion must walk into this chamber here within an hour of the choosing and not leave before receiving the briefing about the first task. Failure to do so means forfeiting, and forfeiting means losing one's magic, maybe even one's life."

So this was the penalty for refusing to compete! Harry wasn't sure whether he felt more horrified or angry. Whoever had put all these names in must have been out of their mind he thought with a glance at the first year Hufflepuff. The girl stared at Bagman, rigid with fear.

Even the original champions were startled. All three were hurriedly checking the time – Diggory glanced at his wristwatch, Krum glared daggers at a pocket watch he had brought out, and the French girl consulted a gleaming golden timepiece that was dangling from a likewise golden chain around her neck.

Malfoy, having recovered enough from the shock to be capable of speech, screeched, "I can lose my magic or my life because no proper safety measures were taken with this Goblet? My father will hear about this!"

"Yes, I am sure he will, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore replied nonchalantly. Turning back to the ministry officials, he said, "Fetch Fudge. Make sure to impress on him the gravity of his situation."

Bagman made to move, but Dumbledore held him back.

"Not you, Ludovic. You have to do the briefing. Barty, you will go. Filius will assist you with an emergency Portkey."

"Of course," said Flitwick, nodding at Crouch. "Come with me, sir."

But Crouch dithered, looking uncertainly from face to face.

"Dammit, Crouch, do what you're told!" bellowed Moody.

He grabbed Crouch by the arm and dragged him forcibly out of the room.

Flitwick, about to follow, paused briefly to say, "Well, I'm afraid I have more bad news. Right before the minister was chosen, the name of another dead man came out of the Goblet: Bartemius Crouch Jnr."

Both Moody and Crouch, just outside the door, fell.

Crouch scrambled to his feet with surprising swiftness. Showing a vigour that was completely at odds with his previous lethargy, he hastened away with Flitwick.

Moody, however, lay on his back, flailing his arms and the good leg awkwardly.

Harry, seeing the pitiful struggle, acted on impulse, as was his habit, and ran to help. He had barely taken two steps, though, when he tripped. He smashed face-first onto the flagstones, and the Great Hall erupted into pandemonium. There were jeers and boos and riotous laughter.

Harry felt mortified. He knew the racket coming from the Great Hall couldn't possibly mean him, but he had just been a heartbeat away from becoming a squib! Why was he so totally unable to think before he rushed into action? Just for once? To save his own life and magic?

The embarrassment burnt in his cheeks like fire.

His lower lip burned too, and he could taste blood in his mouth. He pushed himself up into a kneeling position and checked for broken bones. When he found that he could move all limbs he got up and turned to see who had saved him from his own idiocy by casting a Trip Jinx on him.

Nobody had their wand out. Nobody was even looking his way. Dumbledore and McGonagall were brushing past on either side of him. Sprout was on her feet, crying something about getting the school nurse. Everybody else was staring in horror towards the door. Outside, on the floor, Moody was convulsing.

While Sprout ran to fetch Pomfrey, Dumbledore and McGonagall knelt next to their colleague, but it was obvious that they didn't know what to do about the tremors.

Snape strode to the door, presumably to join Dumbledore and McGonagall in not being able to help Moody. He was knocked back by Professor Vector who came barrelling in at precisely the moment he had reached the threshold. He crash-landed on the flagstones just like Harry a minute before. Unlike Harry, he got to his feet with cat-like grace. Needless to say, he was absolutely livid.

The chubby Arithmancy professor, wheezing, held up both hands in a placating manner.

"Couldn't let you," she panted. "Your name came out."

"Bollocks!" Snape spat. "I never put my name in!"

"Doesn't matter," Vector countered, still out of breath. "It came out. I wonder who did this and what they were thinking. A first year, two dead men – what is the meaning of all this?"

"Ask Potter," Snape hissed. Unspeakable fury flashed on his face as he fixed Harry with a venomous glare.

"Potter?" cried Vector incredulously. "You can't seriously suggest a student did this! There was an age line, and it held. I saw it with my own eyes this morning. Besides, why would Mr Potter put in the name of Crouch's son? How would he know Crouch has had a son in the first place? It's not as if our history books are all that uncensored!"

"Who is zis man Crouch?" asked Maxime. She stepped closer to Vector, shunting aside Snape with her sheer bodily presence. "Is 'e related to Meester Crouch from ze ministry?"

Harry used his chance to edge away from the adults and towards the straw bale. Pointing to the vacant place, he asked the Hufflepuff girl softly, "Mind if I sit here?"

She shook her head. Her face was blotchy from crying.

"Hi," he said, making himself comfortable on the bale, "I'm Harry."

"I'm Rita." She held out her hand for him to shake. "Pleased to meet you."

"Same here."

In silence, they watched Madam Pomfrey's frantic spell casting. McGonagall transfigured a tartan handkerchief into a stretcher, and Sprout held it steady while Pomfrey levitated the still violently convulsing Moody onto it. Dumbledore stood by.

The other adults were talking about Barty Crouch's son, a former Death Eater who had died in Azkaban some years ago. The conversation was somewhat subdued because everyone except Snape kept glancing at what was going on outside the door. Snape kept shooting murderous looks at Harry.

The girl sitting next to Harry shifted anxiously.

"Will Professor Moody be all right?" she asked softly.

"Well, he's pretty tough you know," Harry said, but he wasn't sure at all. A fall might result in broken bones or maybe in a concussion. But a seizure like this? Moody was positively thrashing around. Even with magic, the three witches had difficulty to secure him on the stretcher.

"I didn't think it would be like _this_ ," Rita said. "I thought it would be more along the lines of turning pumpkins into carriages."

"You're Muggleborn?" Harry asked.

"I know that word, but I don't like it. It makes it sound as if my parents were lesser humans."

"Um, I didn't mean any offence." Apparently, nobody had called her a Mudblood, yet. "I thought it was the official term."

"Yes, I know. Being an 'official' word only makes it more degrading," she said gloomily. "Do you think they will let me talk to my parents? About this tournament and how dangerous it is?"

Harry didn't know what to reply. The Dursleys weren't the least bit interested in how he fared at Hogwarts, but how much did Hermione's parents know about this school and the bad things that happened to their daughter year after year?

"Yeah, I thought so," Rita sighed when Harry didn't respond. "Professor Sprout is nice enough, but she didn't even know what a telephone was when I asked back in September. And the mail is awfully slow. It takes _weeks_ for a reply to get here. I've had only two letters from my parents so far even though I've written them every other day."

"Perhaps your parents need a bit more time to get used to owl post," Harry offered.

"No, I don't have an owl. Nobody told me I'd need one. I give the letters to Professor Sprout, and she gives them to some ministry employee."

"To be honest, I don't really know how that works," Harry said. He had never bothered to inquire about how Hermione communicated with her parents. "But I have a friend who is also Mu... well, her parents are dentists and not magical. I can introduce you if you like."

"That would be great!"

A weak smile lit up the girl's features. It vanished when a fresh wave of noise crashed through the Great Hall.

"That thing churned out another champion," she said with a shudder.

All heads turned to the open door in anticipation of the next shocking piece of news. The hall outside was empty; Pomfrey and the others had left for the hospital wing, but only a couple of seconds passed before Professor Burbage ran past.

"Stop!" she shouted. "Headmaster, stop! Wait!"

The clamour in the Great Hall was swelling and swelling. Gradually, the noise morphed into rhythmic boos that were soon met with likewise rhythmic shouts of, "Dumbledore, Dumbledore!"

On cue, Dumbledore stepped into the chamber.

Professor Burbage came with him. She looked around, shrugged, and said, "I'm afraid our headmaster has been chosen as a champion."

"Incroyable!" Maxime cried. "C'est tres incroyable!"

"Dumbledore a champion?" exclaimed Karkaroff. "Now, that takes the biscuit!"

"Well, I'm afraid it cannot be helped," said Dumbledore. "We can but hope that the Goblet of Fire exhausts itself soon. In the meanwhile, I suggest that everyone who has not yet been chosen as a champion leaves the chamber."

"No, Dumbly-dorr!" said Maxime, scowling. "I will not leave ze only champion for Beauxbatons among an 'orde of 'Ogwarts people!"

"I won't leave, either," said Karkaroff. "Frankly, I don't trust you as far as I can throw you, Dumbledore. If you think you can pull another stunt here while my back is turned, then you are sorely mistaken."

So, only Vector and Burbage left. Dumbledore closed the door behind them.

"Ludovic, perhaps we should proceed," he said.

Bagman, looking distinctly uncomfortable, shook his head.

"I would rather wait for the minister."

"I give a dragon's fart about etiquette at this point," Karkaroff snapped. "This whole thing is most irregular, so stop fussing and start briefing already!"

"Well, yes," said Bagman, "but we were planning a task for three champions. Perhaps we could make arrangements for a fourth one at such short notice, but nine? We'll need more funds at least, and we may have to reschedule the first task. I can't make these decisions alone."

"That is your problem, not ours," Krum spoke up. "Ve have one hour, and my name came out first. I vould really vant for you to hurry up."

"I appreciate your situation, Mr Krum. However, there is more than a quarter of an hour left to do the briefing in time," Dumbledore said in an attempt to placate the Durmstrang champion.

Krum, looking more sullen than ever, was about to retort when the door flew open to reveal a red-faced, breathless Poppy Pomfrey.

"Headmaster, I'm afraid I have to tell you that my patient died."

Rita, next to Harry, gasped. In the shocked silence following Pomfrey's words, it was a very loud sound. The girl blushed and hid her face in her hands.

"I am very sorry to hear that," Dumbledore said gravely. "He was a good friend."

"You think that, do you?" asked Pomfrey. It sounded like an accusation. "Well, the good news is my patient wasn't Moody. The bad news is the man who died five minutes ago right under my hands has officially died once before – in Azkaban. Minerva recognised him when he changed into his true form. The Dark Mark on his arm is hard to miss, too. Headmaster, you've had Bartemius Crouch Jnr teaching in your school!"

For once, Dumbledore seemed to have to strive for a reply.

People around the room were shuddering, worry evident in their expressions. The faces of both Snape and Karkaroff were chalk-white. Malfoy trembled like a leaf, and Rita was crying again.

Harry patted her on the shoulder. What else could he do? He wasn't going to lie to her and say that the teachers would be sure to sort things out. The experience of the previous three years had taught him not to hope for too much help from that direction.

What had _he_ expected from a wizarding school besides learning how to transfigure a pumpkin into a carriage? He had hoped his life would be better – less chores and no Harry Hunting. At the moment, it felt more like he had got out of the frying pan and into the fire.

His thoughts strayed to Pettigrew. If the man who had sold Harry's parents to Voldemort died from losing his magic, than maybe all hope of ever proving Sirius's innocence was lost and Harry's only chance at a normal life with it. Well, at a life as normal as it could get in the wizarding world.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when Pomfrey, who had been quietly arguing with Dumbledore, took a step backwards and said loudly, "No, headmaster, we will not wait for you! Minerva's found a ring of keys in Crouch's pocket, and she's gone with Flora searching for Moody. There _is_ a good chance he's still alive because Crouch needed the hairs, and he had to keep him close by, too."

With that, she slammed the door shut. The bang made Karkaroff jump and Snape scowl.

Maxime advanced on Dumbledore, questioning rather brusquely his ability to run a school. Dumbledore tried to wriggle out in his usual way – forming convoluted sentences that contained little to no actual information.

Rita pulled timidly at Harry's sleeve.

"This man was a criminal, right? And he pretended to be Professor Moody?" she whispered. "Why didn't anyone notice?"

"There is a potion called Polyjuice that makes you look like somebody else," Harry whispered back. "From what Madam Pomfrey said, he was using it."

"How did she find out?"

"Well, I think she said it wore off. You have to drink this potion every hour or else you'll change back to your normal appearance," Harry explained in a hushed voice.

"Yes, he was always drinking from his hip flask, wasn't he?" Rita said. "Some older students said he was afraid somebody would try to poison him."

Harry nodded, glancing towards Maxime and Dumbledore.

Seizing the chance to ask his question while most were distracted by the ongoing argument about Dumbledore's shortcomings, he said under his breath, "Rita, did you perhaps see who put that Trip Jinx on me earlier?"

"You think somebody made you fall?" she asked back, startled.

She had spoken louder than before and Malfoy, who had sidled over unnoticed, unfortunately had heard.

"Nobody jinxed you," he sneered. "You stepped on the hem of your robes, you imbecile!"

Harry allowed himself a small sigh of relief. At least, he didn't owe anyone a life debt on top of everything else.

Simultaneously, Malfoy's face fell as he propably realised he had just passed up a colossal opportunity by not claiming that _he_ had been the one who had saved the Boy-Who-Lived with a well-placed Trip Jinx.

Before he got a chance to vent his anger, Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, wearing a long, pinstriped cloak and a lime-green bowler hat, strode into the room.

"Albus, what is this nonsense?" he blustered. "I'm dragged off during dinner because you think I'll lose my magic?"

Dumbledore ignored him. Instead, he gave Flitwick and Percy Weasley, who had followed Fudge into the room, a curt nod and asked them to leave. They complied wordlessly, and Dumbledore closed the door once more.

"Good evening, Cornelius," he then said. "May I ask where Barty Crouch is?"

"Crouch?" Fudge frowned. "Why, at the ministry, of course. He is presently organising an investigation into this... bit of unpleasantness. On my explicit orders, I might add!"

"Minister Fudge, sir," Bagman butted in quickly, "I'm afraid I have bad news. Regrettably, the Goblet of Fire emitted your name. You know the rules, you'll have to-"

"I'll _have_ to?" Fudge sputtered. "I'm the minister! You're not telling me what I'll have to do, Bagman!"

"Cornelius, please, calm down," Dumbledore said. "We can discuss the finer points later."

"Finer points, Dumbledore? I'm not going to compete in this tournament, so you had better find a solution for this mess!"

"Cornelius, if there were a solution, I would not have to compete myself," Dumbledore replied.

"You? Are you saying I'll have to compete with you?" Fudge asked, gobsmacked.

"Minister, it can't be helped," Bagman said, now sounding a bit desperate. "The Goblet of Fire elected eleven champions, including you, sir, and Dumbledore."

"Eleven?" Fudge cried, looking frantically around the room. His gaze came to rest on Malfoy.

Bagman cleared his throat.

"Yes, young Mr Malfoy is one of the champions," he said apologetically. "Minister, if you don't mind I'd do the briefing now."

"But we can't have eleven champions," Fudge, who had visibly deflated, muttered. "We have only three dragons."

Harry managed to keep in his gasp. Somehow, having to fight a dragon didn't come as such a big surprise. After having to deal with a pack of Dementors, a Basilisk and a Voldemort-possessed teacher there wasn't all that much dangerous stuff left.

Rita next to him mumbled, "This is not real. It's just a nightmare. I'm going to wake up soon."

The three original champions tried their best to appear confident whereas Malfoy looked like he was about to faint.

The door was wrenched open yet again.

Hagrid, stooping, shoved his head into the room.

"Dumbledore, what the blazes is the meaning of all this?" he boomed. "That thing spat out Tom Marvolo Riddle! Yer do remember him, don' yer? An' he is... he was... the thing puked out his _other_ _names_ -"

"Thank you, Hagrid," Dumbledore said firmly.

His face belied his calm tone. It was ashen.

"Please leave and close the door."

Hagrid looked hurt and bewildered, but did as he was told. Just before the door closed, Harry became aware of the conspicuous absence of noise from the Great Hall. If the Goblet of Fire had indeed divulged the aliases by which Riddle had gone for most of his career, the shocked silence was understandable.

Harry could tell that Voldemort's identity was not commonly known. With the exception of Dumbledore, everyone in the room, even the minister, looked completely blank.

Again, Harry wondered whether he was the only one here besides the headmaster who knew who exactly was going to lose his magic within the next hour. He couldn't understand why Dumbledore seemed so alarmed, though. Voldemort becoming a Squib – or even dying – should be a reason to throw a party, shouldn't it?

"Ve von't vait for this man!" Krum said, stepping up to Bagman.

The French champion, clutching her golden timepiece, joined Krum.

"Zair are less zan ten minutes left, Meester Bagman," Delacour said. "We want to 'ear ze briefing."

"All right, all right," Bagman said, flustered. "Minister, I trust we can do something about the, er, shortage in dragons?"

"Twelve dragons, Bagman? Twelve? You must be completely out of your mind. You know what it cost to get even three of them!"

"I am confident that there will be no need for a twelfth dragon," said Dumbledore. Oddly, he didn't address Bagman or Fudge when he said this, but gave Harry a long, concerned look instead. "I am fairly sure Tom Riddle will not be able to take part in the Tournament due to the state of disembodiment he has enjoyed for several years now."

"O, 'ow droll," remarked Maxime, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Another dead man. England must be full of zem."

"Well, I've still to procure six dragons within less than four weeks," Bagman sighed. "Not to mention the budget of zero Galleons."

"Mister Bagman, maybe I know how to solve the problem," Diggory said, coming forward. "The rules don't explicitly forbid the champions from helping each other or from working together. Maybe the idea was to allow for a bit of fair play, but we could use that loophole and form teams. There are nine champions now – aside from those too dead to compete – and there are three dragons as you say. That means we'll have to form three teams, each one consisting of three champions."

"Good thinking," said Snape before anyone else found their voice. "Diggory, Potter, you are with me."

"My life sucks," Harry murmured, but only Rita heard him because Malfoy, the very image of a pampered boy feeling bitterly betrayed, shouted, "Potter and a pathetic Hufflepuff? You choose Potter over me, Snape?"

"Now, Mister Malfoy, that is Professor Snape to you," Dumbledore admonished. "Although I must admit that his choice surprises me a little, too."

"Leave it, old man!" yelled Karkaroff while Krum growled along to his teacher's words. "Bagman, the time is up!"

Fleur Delacour, thrusting her dainty timepiece in Bagman's face, shrieked, "Ze briefing! Now!"

"All right, here goes: The first task will be on the twenty-fourth of November, in front of all students and a panel of judges. The champions will face this challenge armed with only their wands. They are not allowed to..." The man faltered for a moment. "Well, some of the champions are teachers, so let's put it like this: No champion is allowed to ask for or to accept help from other teachers who are not in the Tournament themselves. The involved students are exempt from end-of-year tests. That's it. Having been present for this briefing you have officially accepted to take part in the Tournament. There is no precedence because there have never been teams before, but I would hazard a guess that you could still lose your magic if you refuse to do the actual tasks. At the very least, you should contribute to the team effort to the best of your abilities."

He said the last bit looking at Rita.

"About time, Bagman! Are you aware how dangerously close you brought my student to losing his magic?" Karkaroff bristled. "And you, Snape, what makes you think you're allowed to cherry-pick?"

Sure enough, Karkaroff disputing Snape's choice sparked a new argument.

Fudge pompously demanded to be given the first choice owing to his position as minister, whereas Dumbledore volunteered to take the youngest champions under his wing. Diggory's suggestion to include into each team one capable adult wizard, one of the original champions, and one of the younger students to ensure equal chances, went largely unheeded. They argued back and forth until Maxime put down her rather large foot. Literally.

"Nobody will 'ave a right to choose!" she declared, stomping her foot at each word for emphasis. "Ze teams will be drawn by lot!"

She conjured up nine identical eggs.

Rita was given the first pick. Then it was Harry's turn.

Both their eggs revealed ordinary yellow yolks when cracked open, meaning they'd be in the same team.

The yolk of Malfoy's egg was green, Delacour's burgundy red.

One by one, the champions took an egg and cracked it open, creating thereby a rather colourful mess on the flagstones. As soon as Dumbledore, who was last, had opened his egg, Maxime shepherded her champion out of the room. Both appeared to be rather pleased. Karkaroff and Krum exited next. They looked as if they had bitten into particularly unripe lemons.

Snape and Malfoy were on their way, too, when Malfoy suddenly stopped short.

"What is it, Mr Malfoy?" Snape asked impatiently.

"It has activated," Malfoy said, staring at the huge ring that adorned his left middle finger. "How can that be? It is only to activate when I'll come of age."

"Ah," Bagman spoke up excitedly, "that's a side effect. You're now competing in a Tournament for ad-"

"Bagman, you blithering idiot!" Snape said loudly, stopping the other man in mid-sentence. "Keep your mouth shut!"

"Why?" asked Bagman, vaguely offended. "Spontaneous recognition of majori-"

"Be quiet!" hissed Snape.

"Indeed, Ludovic," said Dumbledore, "this inopportune by-product was to be expected, considering the circumstances. I think it reasonable, however, to postpone a more detailed discussion."

Bagman shrugged.

"Putting it off won't change a thing," he said. "They are of age now, Potter, young Malfoy and the little girl, and that's it."

Rita gaped at Bagman open-mouthed. Malfoy looked beyond smug, Snape seemed ready to strangle Bagman with his bare hands, and Dumbledore heaved a sigh.

Being of age now? Harry thought that was too good to be true. Then again, taking into account the peculiar behaviour of Snape and Dumbledore...

He needed to talk to Ron and Hermione – not only about this spontaneous recognition of majority thing, but also about Pettigrew and Voldemort, about a Death Eater masquerading as Moody and all the other things he had learned in the course of only one hour.

Ignoring Dumbledore's urgent call to wait, he dashed past Malfoy.

No sooner was he out of the door than excruciating pain blinded him. The skin on his forehead split open. Something dark oozing down his face was the last thing Harry noticed before the world went black.

...

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To be continued

...

Thanks to Oriel Subtle for beta reading. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Harry felt mildly concerned.

He scrutinised his visitor, trying to be not too obvious about it.

The Polyjuice should have worn off by now. It hadn't.

"I woke up in the hospital wing the next morning," he continued his tale about the events of last autumn. "Pomfrey refused to tell me what was wrong with me, saying that the headmaster would explain. Well, explain he did, but in true Dumbledore fashion – all cryptic remarks and insinuations, leaving me to fill the gaps with guesswork.

"I think he does this on purpose. If I end up with a flawed idea about that scar on my forehead, it will be my own fault, see? He'll simply say that he can't be blamed if I make incorrect guesses.

"He told me that there had been some lingering piece of magic thanks to how I got this scar, and it ceased to linger when Voldemort didn't turn up after he was chosen as a champion.

"Can you see how this has left me with more questions than answers? Why did it happen when _I_ left the room? Why not after the briefing? Or one hour after the name came out of the Goblet? Instead of answering my questions, he asked back whether I had ever experienced an _alien_ _presence_ in my head. When I said no, he assured me that then there was nothing I should worry about, and that was that."

Harry paused, giving the woman in the frilly dress another surreptitious scan.

"Is, or was, this Voldemort human?" she asked.

"I think so, yes. He attended Hogwarts as Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Is it known how he was affected when he failed to fulfil the binding magical contract?"

"No, nobody knows anything for certain when it comes to Voldemort. He wasn't entirely dead before, but not truly alive, either," said Harry.

His scar hadn't hurt once since that night. Better still, the ghastly visions that had plagued him at the start of the school year had stopped.

Of course, he wasn't going to reveal such sensitive information to complete strangers. Who on earth was the woman sitting in his bed?

"I didn't have to stay long in the hospital wing; my forehead was healing up nicely," he resumed his tale, "and not only Ron and Hermione came visiting me, but also my new team mates. We got on really well, and we had a great time together, both inside and outside of the Tournament.

"The same can't be said for the other teams. You see if there is something Snape can't abide with, it's incompetence, and Fudge is the epitome of it. The French girl, being part Veela, can't stand patronising males, and both Snape and Fudge fit that bill. Fudge, in turn, can't stand people who are smarter than he is, and whatever else may be said about Snape and Delacour, they are smart. As for the third team – now, the collision of those three egos was a spectacle to behold.

"Anyway, soon it was time for the first task. There was a fake egg, a golden one, in the clutch of a mother dragon, and we had to nick it. Cedric and I are good at flying. He is the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and I play seeker for my house. So, we summoned our brooms and made the dragon positively dizzy by flying around her head. Doing loops and dives, we made sure she never saw the both of us at the same time. We kept that up for about five minutes, and then we hovered directly before her snout. When the beast started to belch flames, we darted away in different directions. As we had hoped, she couldn't decide which of us to attack and let her flames out right in the middle, nearly roasting a stand full of ministry workers in the process. While the dragon was distracted, Rita sized her chance to dash out from the boulder she had been hiding behind, grab the egg, and take cover again. She was absolutely brilliant, but it went almost unseen because most people were gaping at the burning stand. We quickly flew over to her spot behind the large stone. Cedric pulled her on his broom, and I picked up the egg. The whole thing took us less than ten minutes.

"Then we flew to the jurors and hovered before their table, presenting the egg. They were pretty pissed off with us and claimed we had been endangering the audience with our tactic. Cedric pointed out that they shouldn't have placed a stand directly in the line of fire, but that argument only angered the jurors further, and we didn't get many points.

"This didn't help the other teams to win, though. Snape, Fudge and Delacour argued so much during their turn that they ran out of time. The third team was even worse. Dumbledore obviously thought he could stick to his usual approach – sit back and tell others what to do. Unfortunately for him, neither Krum nor Malfoy were inclined to be ordered about. They did pretty much what they thought was best. Krum riled up the dragon with Conjunctivitis Curses, and Malfoy even cast a _Serpensortia._ Dragons and snakes don't mix, and the mother dragon downright panicked. She trashed around like mad and trampled her own eggs. Although Krum rescued the golden one in the end – and received some rather nasty burns for his daring – Team Green got hardly any points because of the destroyed eggs. Dragons are an endangered species, after all.

"The second task was a magical treasure hunt. It involved a great deal of spell casting and poking around in obscure corners. Again, only wands were allowed so I couldn't bring some special items that would have been very useful. We made up for that by training really hard beforehand, and we also learned the layout of the castle and the grounds by heart. Cedric is fantastic at spell-casting, I happen to know a lot about hidden rooms, short cuts and stuff like that, and Rita is small and nimble and fits through openings that would be too narrow for me. We won the second round with flying colours.

"The third task was a sort of extensive steeplechase. Most obstacles were to be overcome by magic, but there was also a small part of the course where magic was suppressed, and we ended up pulling Rita bodily over a seven feet high wall. You see, all members of a team had to run the whole course. Avoiding or circumventing obstacles was not allowed. That was why Krum and Malfoy, who reached the cup first, didn't win. They were made to go back and fetch their abandoned team colleague, meaning they had to figure out how to get Dumbledore over the seven feet high wall without magic. It took them all afternoon, and they finished in last place.

Harry had reached the end of his story, and his mysterious visitor still hadn't changed. He had watched her, and he was sure he hadn't given her a chance to ingest any liquid.

"I'm almost considered a honorary Hufflepuff now because of the amount of time I spent with them," he added to prolong his tale. "They even invited me into their common room, and I went to the Yule Ball with Amaryllis Summerby, a third year Hufflepuff. She's really great, and we started going out properly after the second task."

"You are going out with someone? That's nice. I can see you had a really good year," the alleged Tooth Fairy said. "But pray tell, what became of the other man who was entered in absentia into the Triwizard Tournament?"

Harry's face split into a grin. Pettigrew being entered into the Tournament without ever learning about it had brought about the most magnificent change in Harry's life. Even winning the Tournament and going out with Amaryllis paled a little by comparison.

"He survived," he said. "I know that Pomfrey said afterwards Crouch only died because he wore the battered body of old Mad-eye Moody at the time. The strain from losing his magic and the one from the Polyjuice Potion wearing off on top of it was simply too much."

He paused to give her a meaningful look.

She didn't bat an eye.

"Pettigrew survived, but of course he became a Squib," Harry went on. "He was apprehended by the Thames Valley Police three days later. They caught him carrying a dead, misshapen infant. They thought he was an escapee from a loony bin, especially because he kept complaining about being unable to do magic. When they couldn't find out which hospital he had run from, they put photographs in the newspapers to see whether anybody was missing him.

"An Auror by the name of Kingsley Shacklebolt saw one of these photographs and recognised Pettigrew. He went with an Auror trainee to retrieve him. The trainee, a Metamorphmagus, posed as some high-ranked official from the Home Office in case the police made a fuss, which they didn't. They were more than happy to be rid of the creepy man.

"Well, Pettigrew was out of options. He owned up to having betrayed my parents and to faking his own death, arranging it so that my godfather Sirius would be blamed in his stead. He's now serving a life sentence at a grade A facility of Her Majesty's Prison Service. Sirius was cleared of all charges. He even got compensation for unwarranted imprisonment. I just said he was cleared of all charges, but a couple of days later they made him pay a heavy fine for being an illegal Animagus. The fine was the exact same amount as the compensation he got before. Funny that, isn't it?

"He shrugged it off. He says he is rich enough, and what truly matters is that he is a free man again. I fully agree.

"I'm going to live with him in his house in London, and that's the icing on the cake," Harry finished and added, "May I ask you a question, too?"

"Of course," she smiled. "What do you want to know?"

"You don't look anything like a fairy. I wonder why?"

"That is because I'm a demoness. A benevolent one; don't be alarmed. A certain bunch of spiteful entities has been giving our species a rather bad name, and that made us change our designation; we don't want to frighten anyone, especially not children," she answered, smiling genially. "We so-called tooth fairies bring little gifts, and here is mine for you."

She placed something in his hand that resembled a wristwatch, but it had no hands, and the face showed no numbers. It was just blue.

"It used to be a clock," she said. "It doesn't work anymore, but keep it, please, so it can remind you of all the horrible things that might have come to pass if it hadn't been for a clever young man heeding the words of wisdom engraved on the back."

Harry turned the watch over.

Seeing the inscription made him inhale sharply. By no means was this a prank by the twins!

When he looked up, the demoness was gone.

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To be continued

...

Thanks to Oriel Subtle for beta reading. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Harry, finally undressed, lay in his bed.

He caressed the small elegant letters on the back of the watch with his thumb. The inscription was a message. No, that wasn't the right word.

 _Words_ _of_ _wisdom_ , the demoness had said. The clock was to remind him of horrible things that didn't happen because somebody heeded these words.

He'd had more than enough horrible things in his short life, but not lately. If he were to pinpoint a moment in time when they stopped happening, he'd say it was the night the Goblet of Fire selected, inexplicably, nine extra champions.

Inexplicably, yes.

The ministry had settled for 'erratic malfunction', meaning they didn't have a clue.

The immediate investigation that Fudge had ordered to be conducted didn't yield any results because Crouch Snr had been far too busy obliterating evidence of his own misdeeds, namely smuggling his Death Eater son out of Azkaban, to do anything else.

Pettigrew had said no more than that Voldemort had been planning to use the Tournament to pull some nefarious trick. Harry was sure that whatever the plan had been, the outcome would have proved horrible for him. Having to face a bloody dragon on his own would already have been bad enough, and Voldemort's scheming wouldn't have stopped at that.

Needless to say, Pettigrew hadn't known any details. Nobody trusts a traitor.

Harry and his friends had spent many an hour trying to piece together what had happened. By the look of it, Voldemort had ordered his faithful servant Crouch Jnr to bewitch the Goblet and to drop in Harry's name. The younger Crouch had made all but a full confession when he put forth his 'theory' on how the Goblet had been tampered with. Then an as-yet-unknown person had probably made the plot backfire on its mastermind. Somebody acting in retaliation would explain why Riddle's name and those of his minions came out of the Goblet. It might also explain to some extent why Snape was entered into the Tournament. The git had been a Death Eater in his youth.

But why Fudge? Why Dumbledore? Malfoy? And why on earth Rita?

Harry doubted that he would ever get a solid answer. Nobody seemed to have one.

Did this night's encounter have anything to do with the events of last autumn, or was the strange clock with its blue face an entirely unrelated puzzle?

He would discuss it tomorrow with his friends.

About to slip the demoness's gift under his pillow, Harry read the inscription one more time: _The_ _Quill_ _is_ _Mightier_ _Than_ _the_ _Wand_.

...

The End

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Thanks to Oriel Subtle for beta reading. :)


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